More angst. (Reply)

While occasionally I do try something a little different like that last one, I do enjoy writing sonnets. They are a nice size for a single idea. Whether or not it is a nice idea.

Here is another poem from a while ago.

I'm pacing back and forth along the hall.My hands shake, and my mind is in a mess.I'm staring at this one spot on the wall.The same familiar patterns. I confessI know just what it is that has me inthis dreadful state - I know just what I need - and that it's out of reach. I can't beginto scratch this itch, to quench this thirst, to heedthe urgent calling from inside of me.So thoughts and words the same old patterns trace,there isn't a way out that I can see.No matter that these thoughts are without base;I'm trapped. I lack the power to break through.I'm stuck here in withdrawal, without you.